The Special ChristmasDavid Simmonds

christmas happens every year / it can get a little stale

so when the inn told joseph "overbooked"/ well there begins a tale their stockings were hung round the stable with care - mary opened hers with joy and unto her a child was born / a bouncing saviour boy

the cattle they were a low-ow-owing /the baby starts to wake but frosty says to jesus hush /be good for goodness sake the shepherds watched their flocks by night/ but they had mighty dread theyd leave and mr grinch would come/ and short sheet all their beds

but good king wenceslas looked out / and said ive got a trick we'll have him go a wassailing / with me and old st nick

the three wise men they saw a star/ a shining in the east so they said lets head for bethlehem/ there'll be a slap up feast they were in a mess no gps / they couldnt find their way so rudolph the red nosed reindeer said / hitch a ride on santas sleigh

The swans a swimming all came in grinning though they had soaking feet And the french hens and the turtle doves said "well finally we meet"

donder and bltzen were sitting in the kitchen /putting christmas cake away while the drummer boy was roasting nuts /with scrooge and mel torme if you dont believe i will up and leave/ and let you heap your scorn but they all rejoiced with heart and soul and voice/ the christmas that jesus was born the christmas that jesus was born merry christmas to all and to all a good night

Some readers seem intent on nullifying the authority of David Simmonds. The critics are so intense; Simmonds is cast as more scoundrel than scamp. He is, in fact, a Canadian writer of much wit and wisdom. Simmonds writes strong prose, not infrequently laced with savage humour. He dissects, in a cheeky way, what some think sacrosanct. His wit refuses to allow the absurdities of life to move along, nicely, without comment. What Simmonds writes frightens some readers. He doesn't court the ineffectual. Those he scares off are the same ones that will not understand his writing. Satire is not for sissies. The wit of David Simmonds skewers societal vanities, the self-important and their follies as well as the madness of tyrants. He never targets the outcasts or the marginalised; when he goes for a jugular, its blood is blue. David Simmonds, by nurture, is a lawyer. By nature, he is a perceptive writer, with a gimlet eye, a superb folk singer, lyricist and composer. He believes quirkiness is universal; this is his focus and the base of his creativity. "If my humour hurts," says Simmonds,"it's after the stiletto comes out." He's an urban satirist on par with Mike Barnacle, the late Jimmy Breslin and Mike Rokyo and, increasingly, Dorothy Parker. He writes from and often about the village of Wellington, Ontario. Simmonds also writes for the Wellington "Times," in Wellington, Ontario.